


Bubbles Float, But I Don't

by kibasniper



Series: Femslash February 2021 [25]
Category: Umineko no Naku Koro ni | When the Seagulls Cry
Genre: Banter, Drowning, F/F, Femslash February, Femslash February 2021, Kissing, Light Angst, Post-Canon, Tea, Temporary Character Death, Trick Ending (Umineko no Naku Koro ni), Trust
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-11
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-18 04:22:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29977311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kibasniper/pseuds/kibasniper
Summary: During their afternoon tea party, Ange asks Erika how she died.
Relationships: Furudo Erika/Ushiromiya Ange
Series: Femslash February 2021 [25]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2134674
Comments: 4
Kudos: 6





	Bubbles Float, But I Don't

**Author's Note:**

> femslash february 2021 prompt 25: water.

“Do you remember what drowning felt like?”

Erika sips her tea as Ange speaks. The subtle taste of mint is delectable in the early afternoon. It fits their tropical surroundings as their boat cuts through the calm waves. They are leaving one of many islands behind, another mystery solved, another truth to be uncovered elsewhere.

She sets her porcelain cup on the saucer. Both cup and saucer are decorated with painted roses. Erika crosses her leg and flicks her foot up and down. Lacing her fingers on her lap, she cocks her head and leers at the cloudless sky.

“What an interesting query, Ange-san. I must answer a question with another question,” she drawls, pressing her thumbs together. “Why are you asking me?”

Ange sits across from her, back straight, shoulders broad. She sips gingerly and closes her eyes. She pulls the cup away from her mouth, her lips a deeper red than usual. Her lip gloss stains the rim, leaving behind evidence as she sets it on her saucer.

“We’ve been sailing for quite some time now. It makes a detective wonder about her partner's final moments,” Ange replies, crossing her ankles. She brushes her fingers through her long, wine red locks. A white glare reflects off Ange’s hair trinkets into Erika’s eyes until Ange removes her hand, but Erika hardly minds a little blinding light.

Erika hums and taps her chin. “I see. Pure curiosity, is it? Well, I suppose since I know all about your brush with death, then it’s reasonable for me to respond.”

Hopping to her feet, Erika saunters over to the boat’s railing. The breeze blows her hair all around. She sighs, breathing in the rich salt of the sea.

“Doesn’t the air taste nice, Ange-san? It’s filled with sea salt, but can you imagine all that brine filling your lungs and stomach?” she asks over her shoulder. “Swallowing mouthfuls of it, gulping it down hoping it makes you heavier, weightier, until you become an anchor sinking deeper into the abyss.”

Ange’s nose wrinkles, and her lips crease into a displeased frown. “I hate that mental image more than you can possibly imagine.”

Erika cackles and waves her hand dismissively. “No, no, not in that way! For a virgin, you really have a perverted mind, but I won’t complain. We’re two peas in a pod.”

Ange rolls her eyes and joins her by the railing. She rests her elbows on the metal bar, gazing out to the sea. “Well, horrible imagery aside, what did drowning feel like?”

Erika drums her fingers on the railing, producing a rhythmic clacking when her sharp nails strike it. The waves splash against the boat, the hum of the engine adding to the noise. Seagulls caw overhead as they speed away the islands, reminding Erika of the real aftermath of her favorite game board.

“Well, when I fell overboard, my life jacket couldn’t save me. The storm that would later ravage Rokkenjima was so sudden that I had no time to clasp the buckle,” Erika recalls, twirling a lock of deep blue hair around her finger. “Hitting the water was a full body shock. I sank instantaneously, almost like I was being dragged by an invisible force.” She snickers. “Of course, a cursed, telekinetic, or magic hand didn’t grab me and prevent my escape. Such a thing doesn’t exist.”

Ange does not respond. She examines Erika with an impassive expression. Her eyes stay narrowed, strong and sturdy as Erika continues.

“So, down I went. Deeper and deeper, I sank. Think of it like…” Erika rubs her hands together. “...I suppose a proper analogy would be the anchor again. I felt heavier by the second. The water pressed down on my whole body. I distinctly remember the sickening, muffled crack of my bones breaking over and over again.”

Ange rubs her elbows, which Erika catches as a nervous fidget. Erika’s gaze focuses on the jut of her arm. Even in her thick clothing, Ange’s angles are notable. Her jaw is tense, her chin pointed. Her cheekbones are high like her father’s, but the way her eyes squint when narrowing on a culprit is Kyrie’s influence.

“I remember my mouth opening, and the water rushed inside of me. I was a glass being filled,” Erika continues, resting her hand to her cheek. She leers at the ocean below them. “See how clear the surface is? We can make out a few fish from up here.”

Ange spots a red snapper and nods. The sun reflects on the water, casting a white glow along the clear liquid.

“As I descended and swallowed water, I was swallowed up by darkness in return. My vision turned spotty. I couldn’t figure out which was up anymore,” Erika says, and she presses her hands underneath her ears. “After that, I couldn’t hear anything as well. My eardrums exploded. I managed to see the trickling of my dark blood seeping into the blackened depths.” She chuckles and shakes her head. “With my blood spreading, I believe the sharks attracted to the scent would have loved to devour me. They would’ve ended my suffering much faster.”

Sighing, Ange turns away from the ocean and leans her hip into the railing. “I’m sure you wouldn’t have liked that. Besides, there’s no evidence to say you were eaten by sharks. Let’s not make a guess into a fact.”

The corners of Erika’s lips twist into a sneer. “Who’s to say that isn’t the truth? After I ascended from mortality to become my master’s piece, it’s natural to believe I became shark food. What happened to my flesh is still a mystery, you know.” She snaps her fingers and jabs her thumb at the water. “My hypothesis, which can’t be disproven, is as follows! The reason why my corpse was never found is because I was gobbled up by sharks! Go on, Ange-san, hit me with a blue truth and try your best to refute the detective Furudo Erika!”

Ange cups her chin and looks at the sky. She taps her foot, appearing to mull over Erika’s argument. With a grin, she snaps her fingers and claims, “Then I will argue you were eaten by anglerfish, and you can’t say I’m wrong.”

Erika gawks, her confidence whittling away. “You-! Ange-san, reusing my argument is a cowardly move. We’ll be at a stalemate for all eternity!”

“If this was a witch’s game, then I’m sure Lambdadelta would be pleased to hear us arguing for that length of time.”

Erika mimics a pitcher’s wind-up. “To escape her boredom after a century of our climatic duel, she would demand we switch up our arguments and toss salted caramel popcorn at us.”

They share a laugh. The levity of their situation as they sail to new lands would have been strange in the minds of onlookers. Discussing the circumstances of one’s death would have made normal humans pale and quake, but Ange and Erika are beyond the realms of their comprehension. Death is a typical topic for Witches of Truth. Asking why one died is like asking for the time. Although Erika is guarded, she respects her fellow truth seeker too much to deny her the factual sensations of her demise, and in a way, she relishes recounting the final moments of her human life.

“To bring us back to my question, I have a supplementary one,” Ange announces, Erika snapping to her attention. “Why couldn’t you float?”

“Well, well! It’s about time you asked that,” Erika remarks, shrugging her shoulders and closing an eye. “Why couldn’t I float? As I told you, and if you didn’t hear me, clean the wax out of your ears, my life jacket wasn’t buckled. The typhoon was monstrous with gale force winds assaulting me at every angle. The thunder was rumbling so loudly no one would have heard me scream, making rescue impossible.” She rolls her shoulders back and dips her arms behind the railing. “What choice did I have but to sink? It’s not as if I’m as a light as a feather.” She grips the railing and jumps, her knees bending as she lands on one foot. Balancing on the rail, Erika shoots her arms out, and her palms face the calm sea. She smirks at Ange, who watches with wide eyes and pinprick pupils. “You see, Ange-san, the truth is bubbles float, but I don't,” Erika finishes, and she bows, her arm sweeping in front of her, her ponytails draping past the railing.

A pregnant pause passes them. The waves continue lapping against the boat as if nothing had transpired. Erika hears Ange’s footsteps approach, and she only looks when Ange’s shadow crosses over the floorboards in her line of vision. She lifts her head, her confusion beginning to mount when Ange remains silent, before her train of thought halts before she can begin to decipher her own puzzlement. 

Ange cups Erika’s face and pulls her in for a kiss. Erika tastes the subtle mint and Ange’s cherry lip gloss, feeling it smear into her lower lip. She holds Ange’s hands in place, closing her eyes as if she is saying goodbye, but Ange parts to take a breath. Erika wishes she stayed for a moment longer, but her expression refuses to bend to her emotions.

“Thank you for trusting me with your truth,” Ange whispers, their foreheads nearly touching.

“And how can you be so certain it’s the truth?” she counters, threading her fingers through Ange’s hair.

“Because it’s my truth as well.”

The confidence Ange poises is admirable. Nothing Erika can say will deter Ange from her acknowledgement and acceptance. She is no longer the little wench bawling her eyes out after reading the truth about Rokkenjima. 

Erika grins and leaps off the railing, her heels clicking as she lands. “Then, shall we finish our afternoon tea? I’m parched from explaining so much.”

“I didn’t think that was possible considering how much you like to hear yourself talk.”

“Hey! A detective is prone to long periods of speaking. Lozenges will soon be your best friend, Ange-san.”

As they return to the table, Ange takes Erika’s hand and squeezes it. Erika hesitates for a mere second before her fingers involuntary flex inwards, her middle digit pressing on Ange’s knuckles. Heat briefly colors her cheeks the color of Ange’s hair, but Erika laughs it off, her smile, for once, mirthful.


End file.
